by A. J. Lucas
Sure enough, he lumbers over to my bed and tosses me on my back, and then he crawls up overtop of me. Again I feel the difference in our size; he’s massive, and I like feeling like his toy. It’s so different.
“Can I take your shorts off?” he asks, and while I do appreciate that he sought my permission, I almost wish he’d just get on with it and do what he wants to me. In response, I wiggle out of my shorts, my cock flopping up against my belly button, almost fully hard. He breathes, “Wow.”
“Your turn,” I say, pulling his shirt over the top of his head, revealing that chest I’ve thought about constantly since I saw the picture earlier tonight. It looks even better in person, which is always a concern when it comes to the apps. I repeat him. “Wow.”
He lays on top of me, propping himself up on his elbows but still letting me feel his weight pressing me down into the bed, and kisses me again, more passionately this time. I can feel his dick through his shorts rubbing up against mine, which is in turn rubbing on my own stomach. I always enjoy this moment, before everything really gets started, before we’ve fully explored each other, where every touch just crackles with possibility.
He moves down my body and takes my cock into his mouth, going right down to the bottom in one fluid motion. I gasp as the back of his tongue massages the head of my cock; I’ve never felt quite like this before. I lay back and close my eyes, letting him go to town, letting myself get lost in the pure pleasure coming from my groin, coming from his mouth.
He bobs up and down, cupping my balls in one hand and stroking the part of my dick that’s not in his mouth in the other. This is a talented man who knows exactly what he’s doing, and it only takes a few moments until I can feel the orgasm building.
“Stop,” I choke, and he comes up for air. “I don’t want to come yet.”
He nods and slides his own shorts off, revealing that he’s also fully hard at this point. Whereas his dick was impressive enough soft in the photo he sent me earlier tonight, I had no idea; it had almost doubled in size, at least 8, 8.5”.
The tequila has me feeling brave, so I slide down the bed and wrap my mouth around him. I love sucking dick, but this is by far the biggest one I’ve ever tried to deep throat, and it’s far too thick for me to get all the way down my throat at first. Still, he holds the back of my head and thrusts, repeatedly, hard, into my mouth. I gag but he doesn’t let me up for air, and I love it, love the feeling of being used like this for his pleasure. While he moans and slides himself in and out of my mouth, I grip my own cock and stroke hard and fast.
After a few minutes he releases me and I take deep, gulping breaths. He looks out of breath himself and sits back against the headboard, watching me. My eyes are still watery, but I love the sight of him sitting there, his thick cock protruding up from all that hair, and I immediately go back for seconds.
“Stop,” he says after a moment, and I obey, looking at him for instruction.
“Yes, sir,” I say. I don’t think I’ve ever called a guy “sir” in my life, but it felt right, and he seems to enjoy it, because he grins down at me.
“Do you have condoms and lube?”
“Of course,” I say. I stand up and walk over to the closet, where I keep a little shoebox full of what he’s asked me for. I can see myself in the mirror, dick still wet from his mouth, and I can see him behind me, slowly playing with himself while he waits for me. He looks incredible.
I find the shoebox tucked behind the door, and I bring it back to him. There are a variety of different condoms inside, mostly picked up from the dispensers at various gay bars, as well as a bottle of lube. He selects a Magnum XL condom and rolls it on, and then slathers his cock with lube.
I lay on my stomach and he positions himself behind me.
“Are you ready?” he says.
I’m very ready. I arch my back, look at him, and say as seductively as I can manage, “I want to feel you inside of me.”
I can see his dick twitch in anticipation, and he smirks again. “Oh, you’ll feel it alright,” he says, his fingers beginning to probe my opening, stretching me out. After a moment, he replaces his fingers with his cock, at first just sliding the tip in, and then a bit more, and without warning, the rest of it all at once.
I shout, “Oh, fuck, that’s big.” It hurts.
He laughs and says, “I told you you’d feel it.”
He draws back and then goes all the way in again, and this time it hurts less.
Soon enough, as he gets into a rhythm, hitting just the right spot over and over, my pain gives way to ecstasy. I like that I’m being used by someone so big and manly, so broad and hairy, so muscular and masculine. I’m just here for his pleasure. I don’t even touch myself while he fucks me, his rhythm pushing my dick down against the mattress providing more than enough stimulation. I can feel his weight on top of me, pressing into me, grinding up against me, and it’s driving me wild.
He leans down and nibbles on my ear and I nearly come right then, but I manage not to focus on it, instead turning to look at our reflection in the mirror. I look like a complete slut and I love it. He’s looking at us too, and I catch his eye and grin while he pounds into me.
He takes his cock out and flips me over onto my back. He hoists my legs up over his shoulders, a move I’ve used on guys many times, and then slides into me again. This way, he can lean down and we can kiss while he fucks me, our mouths connected as much as our groins. And then — fuck — he also grips my dick and strokes me while he continues to slide in and out, his hand keeping time with the rhythm of his cock. The sensation is a full-body euphoria.
Why don’t I do this more? I wonder. Then I remember it’s because I usually like to be the one making other guys feel this good, that I enjoy the feeling of power that must be coursing through J. right now just as much as I’m enjoying feeling powerless.
J. growls into my mouth, a primal, animalistic grunt, and that’s it, I can’t stop myself anymore. I can feel the contractions begin deep in my groin and then seconds later, I’m gushing all over my chest, moaning louder than I’ve ever moaned with a guy before. He looks down at me, surprised, and then he grins, and screws up his face in concentration.
He slams into me harder than ever before, shouting, “Fuckkkk.” His face reddens as I can feel his cock pulsing inside me, and, out of breath, I run my fingers through the hair on his chest, gripping his pecs as his entire body tenses and throbs.
After a moment, both of us now sticky with my come, he leans backwards and picks me up, hugging me to his chest. He’s still quivering as the last vestiges of his orgasm run through his body, and he suddenly seems soft, tender, like a big, huggable teddy bear rather than the imposing physicality that had dominated my entire existence moments earlier. This time I kiss him, and he seems grateful for it.
My mind is still swimming from the effects of the tequila and the incredible workout we just had. J. pulls out and takes off the condom, and I slide under the sheet, the bed shaking as he stands up. He walks into the bathroom and I can hear the sound of him urinating from behind the closed door.
I yawn, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. What a day. I feel like I was correct, that currents of fate had indeed been pushing me toward this moment, toward a deeper understanding of what I like sexually, of who I am as a person. I feel more connected with my dominant side thanks to such an intensely submissive hour, like I understand even more how much I want to please the guys who give their bodies to me the way I just gave mine to J.
I want to invite J. to stay the night. I’d love to really sleep with him, cuddled up against his broad, furry chest as his little spoon.
But I’m too exhausted, and before he is back from the bathroom, I feel my eyes closing, and without quite realizing it, I am asleep.
Sneak Peek
Venice Nights, Book 1:
The Night The Waves Were Electric
Available on Kindle Unlimited
June 2nd, 2020
The Uber dropped me
off on the boardwalk around 10. I figured there was no sense in me sitting around my apartment frustrated and horny about the missed opportunity that morning; might as well get out into the sun and maybe take a dip in the ocean before meeting up with Harrison.
Venice was crowded today. There were the usual punks and skaters who looked like they were on the set of a film that took place in the 90s, and there were the usual tourists who looked surprised at how grimy the infamous Venice Beach boardwalk looked in direct sunlight. But there were lots of happy people, too, people excited to be by the ocean, looking forward to surfing and drinking and just being around each other, soaking up the sun and the company.
That was the vibe of Venice I loved, that sense that everything around you was just humming with electricity and possibility, full of potential connections with people from all around the world, all looking for a communal experience together. I hadn’t bothered putting on a shirt, but I had one tucked into my bag just in case, along with my wetsuit in case I felt like renting a board later. The sun felt great on my back as I walked into the heart of the boardwalk, my flip-flops slapping the pavement as I went.
I was still mildly hungover from the night before, so I thought a cup of coffee might help clear my head. I could even add a dash of the rum from the water bottle in my bag. I walked towards a coffee shop I’d been to a few times, tucked around the corner from Small World Books. It had a fun, kind of grunge feel that I appreciated, like salt- and sweat-encrusted weirdos had been stopping by for a caffeine fix for decades. Which, for all I knew, was exactly the case.
Walking along the window that made up the front wall of the café, I was struck by a guy sitting at the bar with a cup of iced coffee and a paperback book in front of him. He had on a bright blue tank-top that hugged his body very well, showing off broad shoulders, toned arms, and a chest that swelled against the fabric in all the right ways. He had messy light-brown hair in a very fashionable haircut, and I liked the stubble that crept across his cheeks. And those lips…!
I realized he was staring at his phone, his eyes welling up with tears, and I suddenly felt protective. I couldn’t explain it, but I felt like this guy needed me, like I wanted to hug him and comfort him and kiss him and —
Fuck, he’s looking at me.
I smiled in a way that I hoped was reassuring, acknowledging that we’d been caught staring at each other, and then I walked to the door of the coffee shop. I pushed it open, grateful for the “No Shirt? No Shoes? No Problem!” sign, and debated whether I should wait in line for coffee or just walk right up to him.
I decided on coffee first. I could feel him on the other side of the room, staring at me, like we were being drawn to each other magnetically, and I perversely liked knowing that he was aware of my presence in the room just as much as I was his, and that he was as electrified by it as I was.
After getting my iced latte from the gorgeous black girl working at the counter, I casually turned around just in time to catch him bury his head in his paperback. He’d definitely been staring at me.
Like a sign from above, the person at the stool next to him stood up at that exact moment, gathered their trash, and headed for the exit.
I slid into the seat. He didn’t look up. I could feel him consciously not looking up. I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it, if maybe I’d gotten slightly sunburned already on my walk to the café, but it felt like his body was radiating heat. Maybe he was radiating the same lust I already felt for him.
I took a sip of my iced latte, staring out the window at the passing crowd, and waited.
Sure enough: “Hi.”
About The Author
AJ Lucas
A.J. Lucas is the pen name of a 30 year old living in Los Angeles. He's a first-time romance novella writer, although he's published other things under a different name. He loves the genre, and once the characters of Foster and Felix came to mind, they wouldn't leave him alone until he got them down on paper!
Books In This Series
Venice Nights
A m/m romance series about a surfer named Felix and the college boy, Foster, who he falls in love with on the sands of Venice Beach.
The Night The Waves Were Electric
This is the first book in a new m/m romance series, introducing the love story of Felix and Foster. Foster is a college kid who's hiding away from the world at his parents' beach house on Venice Beach; Felix is a carefree surfer who loves to catch the waves right outside Foster's door. When they have a chance encounter one afternoon, they spend a hot, passionate day together that will change their lives forever. And as night falls on Venice Beach, secrets are confessed, connections are tested, and there's something in the water...
This is an erotic, sweet-and-steamy novella that contains frank descriptions of sexual content.
